Obsession
by Holz090
Summary: "I couldn't tell how any of this started, how she came to occupy so much of my day, how my every other thought was of her, because if I'm honest I can't remember a time when she didn't" Carla Connor has a stalker.
1. Chapter 1

_Another one of those ideas that came to me on a late night wander. I only have a rough idea of where this will lead, so any suggestions or feedback will as usual be greatly appreciated._

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She left the bistro late last night, arms draped around the bookie, both grinning and laughing as they walked down the street, seemingly oblivious to everyone and everything else. If I didn't know better I'd have assumed they were both drunk, the way their feet would occasionally cross as neither seemed bothered about, or capable of, walking in an entirely straight line. He said something which I couldn't make out, and she laughed out loud, leaning her head back as she let out that all too familiar giggle; almost childlike, contagious - you can't help but smile when she does. There's just something about that grin that makes everything momentarily seem right with the world.

I leaned against the outside wall of the bistro, casually pretending to text a friend as I adjusted the position of the phone to just the right point so I could get a photo without making it obvious. This was a practise I was more than used to by now, which is why I was so angry at myself when the shutter clicked loudly, and I instinctively threw my arm down, hiding it behind my back in case she'd heard, my heart racing. Thankfully by now they too far away to hear anything, although I suspected even if they had, they'd barely have noticed. Her eyes barely left his as she fiddled aimlessly with the colour of his coat. My skin pricked at the sight; what I wouldn't give to have her touch me like that.

They stopped briefly outside the factory, looking upon it as though it were a masterpiece they'd built with their bare hands. "Are you absolutely sure about this?" I heard the bookie ask, his arm resting on the small of her back, her head laid softly on his shoulder. "Mmm, of course" she replied, "are you?"

"Just watch me!" He smiled, before they turned and walked away.

I watched as they got gradually further from me, still too anxious after the camera shutter incident to dare follow them. He opened their front door, gesturing for her to walk in first, like a chauffeur, or a bachelor on a first date. I couldn't see her face from where I stood, but from his reaction I can imagine her smutty response. After a few seconds her arm emerged into view again as she pulled him, by the collar, into the flat.

My heart sank.

I couldn't tell how any of this started, how she came to occupy so much of my day, how my every other thought was of her, because if I'm honest I can't remember a time when she didn't. I've loved her since that life changing day, back in school, when she'd been the only person to approach the bedraggled girl crying outside one of the science labs. She was known Carla Donovan back then, and in that tiny moment of compassion, I'd fallen immediately, hopelessly in love with her. She'd put her arm around me, straightened my jacket, and told me I was worth more than them. No one had ever been so kind to me before, and I doubt they ever will again. Of course, I'd never have the guts to talk to her again, bar a few throwaway smiles and the odd hello when we'd pass in the corridor, but I almost didn't need to. From that moment on, she'd been my life.

Losing contact with her had killed me; that lost decade I spent tirelessly searching every resource I had, desperate to track her down. Those were the darkest days of my life, and I'd almost given up until, a few years back, when her new name, accompanied by a photograph, had appeared in a local newspaper; She was taking the man who raped her to court. I sobbed for an entire day when I found out, the mere thought of what she'd been through, of what I could never have prevented, tortured me. I left it a suitable duration of time before following her; I had to get things into action. She barely left her boyfriend's house that first few days, other than to go to work, but the momentary glances I got on her journey across the street were enough back then. I had to take things slowly, and just the sight of her, knowing that despite this awful event she was alive and coping, that she had support, was enough.

It was several weeks before I took my first photograph, a casual shot from the side as she'd unlocked the doors to the factory. You won't believe me when I tell you it wasn't malicious, but I can promise it was for a purely practical reason. I knew I wouldn't be able to see her for a while - I had to go away for a week or so on family duty, and I needed something to get me through. Just a little momento, a reminder of what I would soon return to. I'd fully intended to delete it as soon as I got home, but something about the way her raven hair glinted in the light, the way she bit her lip slightly as she concentrated on turning the lock, prevented me from erasing it. It was too special, too precious to delete from history. So I kept it, among hundreds of other photos of random things: of flowers, of my dog, of humorous signs outside pubs, just tucked away. Yet somehow one photo became hundreds, and I honestly cannot explain how that happened.

I waited another hour or so on that street, until their lights had gone out and I was certain they would not resurface again until morning. Taking the long route home, I bypassed the flat, listening briefly as I tiptoed past, just to ensure that she was ok. She was sleeping soundly, or so I assumed from the peaceful silence.

"Goodnight, Carla" I said under my breath, taking my glance up at their slightly open window. "I love you".


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry this is so overdue, my brain has been completely fried by two weeks in spain and a bout of writers block.

Thanks for the reviews for the first part, always appreciated!

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They're engaged - her and the bookie.

I know, because I saw them, outside the jewelers. I watched as she cooed over rings, watched him hold her, his hands too close to her neck for my liking, like he owned her or something. And I watched her smile, and go along with it all. And it hurt.

I knew before that, but perhaps it isn't wise or safe to tell you how I knew. Or perhaps I'm just worried that all this will one day be used against me. Either way, let's just say I found out.

It was a guess really, a stroke of luck, that I chose the right jewelers to wait at. Carla isn't one for broadcasting where and when she's going to the world, but I had a hunch and I followed it.

They arrived half an hour after me, just as I was starting to doubt myself and prepare to leave. Just goes to show, perseverance can pay off sometimes. She cooed at a ring in the window, their words inaudible from inside the shop, where I pretended to look at watches. She was more enthusiastic than he was, though, I could tell that from their body language alone. A look of discomfort barely left his face, as though he'd rather be anywhere else but there, looking at engagement rings with this stunning, magical woman. I feel my blood boil; does he not realise how lucky he is? Not understand how many people would kill to live a day, an hour, in his shoes? It wouldn't surprise me if she'd been the one to propose.

She pulls him playfully by his tie, and I find myself half hoping he'll choke. He doesn't, and I hide my face behind a wrack of expensive men's sports watches as they enter the shop. A couple sitting on one of the sofas in the corner give me a you-can't-afford-this-shop look, and I sigh because I know they're right. The cheapest item in this shop is still way out of my price range, and I suddenly feel out of place. Still, eyes on the prize. I feign interest in a watch at random, one eye fixed on the counter that they've strolled over to.

She sits down, leaning just slightly against the glass display cabinet, eyeing up a row of dazzling diamonds as he stands there, jacket slung over his shoulder, looking entirely out of place. Still, I guess that makes two of us. I start to worry about appearing suspicious - I've been standing almost in this exact spot for the last half an hour, having already told three separate sales assistants that I'm 'just browsing'. There's only so long you can spend browsing a dozen or so watches, and I realise that I exceeded that time quite some time ago. I feel the CCTV camera eyeing me up, capturing my every move, some overweight, middle-aged man in the back somewhere zooming in, just waiting for the first chance he gets to come and escort me from the store. One word from that snobby couple beside me and I'll be dragged out by my hair in front of everyone, in front of her. My cover will be blown, she'll know my face. It won't be safe to see her again for weeks, maybe even months. I should leave.

I'm about to leave when I hear the man behind the desk. "Would madam like to try it on?"

"Yep!" She doesn't skip a beat.

My heart, however, skips several as the bookie slides his jacket off his shoulder, throwing it against the counter, taking the ring and placing it on her finger. I freeze to spot, my eyes fixed on the display. How is everyone in here not starring now? "It's a perfect fit" she exclaims, an uneasy laugh following it, as though this is all too good to be true.

I hope that no one notices the strange woman, rooted to the spot and starring, but right in that moment I don't care if they do. They could drag me away, throw me in a cell and it'd still be worth it to have seen her face light up like that. I only wish it could be someone else stood beside her. She deserves so much better, so much more, than some former lush in a cheap suit trying to look the part. It's not even that I want to be that other person, that better person, because I know that even if circumstances changed drastically, I'd never be right for her. We'll never be together, I accepted that a long time ago. I just want so badly for her to be happy, for someone to make her feel like I'd give anything to. Someone to treat her the way she desperately deserves to feel. After so many years of heartache, the thought of her going through it all again kills me.

I feel a lump form in my throat and I know then that I have to leave. It kills me, but staying will only put us all in danger. I've seen what I came to see. So I slip away, unnoticed. No security guards follow me out, and I breathe a sigh of relief to have got away with it. Rule number one of this game is to avoid anywhere too public, don't act suspiciously, don't draw attention to yourself. They have me on CCTV, and so as much I want to sneak a momentary final look through the window, I resist. There'll be other chances, safer places.


End file.
